All In Good Time - A Time Travel Beatles Fanfiction

Track 21 - When I Find Myself In Times of Trouble

"My brother is without pants," Paul said, holding his stomach and giggling harder.

"What does that even mean?" Lainey asked. Was this the most adorable little boy in the world? She could spend all day listening to that laugh.

Mrs. McCartney returned with more tea, Michael once again attached to her hip. "Did you have a silly pill, Paul?"

"Silly pilly," Paul repeated. The giggling stopped and his eyes narrowed as he watched his mother settle onto the sofa with Michael on her lap. Abandoning the truck, Paul climbed onto the piano stool. Legs swinging, little brown leather shoes not quite reaching the floor, he stretched to the far left and began plunking every black key from the bottom of the keyboard to the top.

"He's adorable. They both are."

"He's a whirlwind," Mary said, but her face glowed with pride. "If only I had their energy."

They both watched Paul for a moment, his left hand moving up to the high notes. "He seems to be left-handed," Mary said, her brow knit with concern. "I've been encouraging him to use crayons with his right hand, and he gets so frustrated with me. But it will save him a lot of bother and frustration later on with the school masters if he'll use his right hand."

Lainey wondered what Mary would say she knew her first born was destined to become the most famous left-handed bass player in the world. "I imagine he'll figure it all out and do just fine with his left hand," Lainey said. She could tell by the tilt of his head that Paul was listening to every word they said.

Then to Lainey's surprise, he began to play Chopsticks. She turned to Mary with a smile. "He's very musical."

"He gets that from his father."

"Does your husband teach the boys?"

"No, He wants them to learn it properly, from an instructor, when they're ready."

Little Paul's ears seemed to perk up. "I can play piano already, Mother," he said in a perfect British accent. Lainey almost laughed. So Paul hadn't really picked up the Northern accent until he'd gotten around the other kids at school and wanted to fit in.

"Yes, you're doing quite well, Son."

Michael clambered off his mother's lap and toddled over to his brother, pulling himself up to the piano. He lifted his fat little hands and slammed them down on the keyboard. A split second later, Paul's arm shot out, and little brother plopped onto his diaper clad bottom and howled. Paul blithely turned back to the keys and started Chopsticks from the beginning.

Lainey's hand flew to her mouth, but she quickly realized the baby's only injury was to his pride. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the family dynamic playing out in front of her eyes. Big brother had clearly had enough of little brother infringing on his toys, his mother, his audience.

Mary scooped up baby Michael and soothed him before addressing her older son. "James Paul. You owe everyone an apology."

Paul stopped playing, his face the picture of innocence. "But I'm not sorry, Mummy. He shouldn't bang on the keys, Dad says so."

Mary took him by the shoulder and guided him off the stool. "Use your words from now on. Upstairs. Off you go."

Paul's face reddened, but he obediently slid off the piano stool and headed for the doorway. Then he stopped. "It's not fair, Mummy. And I need the sand glass."

Mary sighed. "That's fine Paul. Use gentle hands."

At the fireplace, Paul lifted a large hour glass from the hearth, flipped it over and carried it carefully out of the room, watching the sand trickling through as if mesmerized. Lainey heard his little leather shoes clumping up the stairs.